


Meaning(less)/Meaning(ful)

by verycoolperson, Vrunka



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Frottage, I never needed to know so much about free weights, M/M, god damn, handjobs, i looked up actual gym stuff for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verycoolperson/pseuds/verycoolperson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: It's not like Hugo is ashamed or anything, but he doesn't exactly see what Craig sees in him.





	Meaning(less)/Meaning(ful)

**Author's Note:**

> Whynot giving me life with constant Hugo art has single handedly kicked my writer's block in the butt.

"Bro, you've been holding out on me."

He hadn't been...exactly.

He just hadn't mentioned it.

Craig spins in a circle, grinning from ear to ear. "Dude, this is rad." He's already inspecting the weight bench, eager hands sliding along the leather of the seat.

"I mean obviously you work out," Craig continues, "but like...wow. You work out, huh? Those are Irongrip, right?" He's pointing to the plates lined up by weight along the wall. "How do those feel?"

Hugo swallows. Tries to form a thought amidst the myriad of questions.

"I usually stick with round," Craig is saying, "better for that deadlift, but I guess for benching..." he trails off.

Hugo's tongue moves. A response. "Yeah, I--"

"Broooooo," Craig cuts in. He's standing at the treadmill now, clicking through the options. "Dude, this thing is like, majorly high tech. We don't have stuff like this at the gym." He laughs. Grinning.

And Hugo laughs.

He feels so out of his depth here. And it's stupid because maybe he isn't quite the muscle-head that Craig is, but he does like this stuff. He put this home gym together because he likes this stuff. He should be able to talk shop like an old pro.

And instead all he's doing is blushing and shuffling his feet; mute and boring.

Boring.

The thought settles at the hollow of his throat.

The underlying issue in one succinct word. Two biting syllables.

He's an old man compared to Craig. He's not cool enough to share the same hobbies, the same interests, the same anything. He feels dry-mouthed at even the thought of Craig enjoying spending time with him.

And if Craig's reaction tells him anything, smiling as he loads the plates onto the bar, it's that Craig is enjoying himself. Immensely. And it's unsettling. And it's weird.

"Spot me?" Craig says. Fixing the last two weights to his liking. One-seventy plus the bar, rounding out to two fifteen. Hugo doesn't roll his eyes at the softball weight.

Craig slips his shirt off. Drops it at the foot of the bench. Flexing a little more than is necessary, stretching his arms out in front of him to squish his pecs together.

Hugo appreciates it even if he won't say so. If the way his gaze slides up and down Craig's torso, and the answering tightening of Craig's abs, means anything; it's that Craig appreciates the appreciation.

He lays on the bench. Rolls his shoulders against the padded leather.

Two-fifteen, for someone like Craig--someone like Hugo even--is easy as breathing. He pushes the bar up like it's nothing. His arms don't even shake. He does five solid reps, breathing right and with proper extension. Eyes locked on Hugo's; corners tight, grinning even though his mouth is not.

"You good," Hugo asks.

Craig licks his lips, tips his chin. Hugo, in a display of the worst spotting technique ever, can't help but lean forward and kiss him. Upside down, mismatched. Craig exhales against his nose when he pulls back. Breath ruffling Hugo's mustache.

The bar, ever so slightly, shakes.

"Maybe I'm a little tight," Craig says. Swallowing as he lowers the weights back in place. Arching to puff his chest out in offering.

Hugo slides his hands over the swell of each pec, greedy. Sinking his fingers into the plush, plump muscle. Smooth skin and firm nipples. He tweaks one with his thumb, revels in the way Craig sighs at the attention.

"Tight right?" Craig asks.

"Mmm should stretch first next time," Hugo says. He keeps his head tucked beneath the bar, cranes his neck just a little to press another kiss to Craig's ear, to his jaw.

The front of Craig's trainers is tenting. Impossible to miss. That thick, thick cock coming to attention. More evidences of Craig's enjoyment. If it means anything.

Craig sighs. His eyelids flutter. One hand drops from the cradled bar to fist in Hugo's hair. In answer, Hugo picks up the pace of his fingers. Moving them with more purpose; quick, flickering little circles around each nipple. Hardening buds beneath his nails.

"Wanna switch," Craig asks, over a gasp. Hips twitching.

Hugo pauses. Startled out of his rhythm. He meets Craig's gaze. "What?"

"Switch with me. Get some reps too. Not good etiquette, me hogging the bench like this." Craig grins, reaches up to tug Hugo's glasses off. Folding them. Laying them aside.

Craig's fingers pulling at the hem of Hugo's shirt, ducking back out from under the bar and then turning to reach over it. Sitting on the bench on his knees. Leaning forward to nose his way through Hugo's chest hair once the wrestling tee is out of the way enough.

"You don't have to--" Hugo starts to say. But Craig grins and shushes him and Hugo doesn't push the issue. He lays down on the bench once Craig has vacated it.

He stares up at the bar.

Sweating already, back slick against the leather of the bench.

"Wow," Craig says. And when Hugo looks over to him he finds Craig watching him, palming himself through the material of his pants. Eyes half-lidded. Mouth open and pink and panting.

Hugo squirms. Never would have considered himself that amazing to look at. Maybe it's the whole working out thing. Some kinky little trick that gets Craig going; watching other people better themselves.

Hugo reaches up and grips the bar. Pulls a breath in and blows it out. He lifts the bar up, just a little, shifting his bare shoulders to brace better against the leather seat. He presses the bar up and brings it down, slow and steady.

It's a little more weight than he would usually start off with. His chest feels warm after the third rep, not tired, not aching, but present. He pauses between three and four. Draws a breath between his teeth.

His eyes had squeezed shut.

He opens them.

Craig is above him, looking down at him.

"You got this," Craig says. "Doing great. Just relax into it, Hue."

Relax into it, easy for him to say. But the words and the sincerity in his tone mean something. Hugo takes another breath, less strained this time, jaw relaxing. A fourth rep, a fifth.

"Just like that," Craig says.

And then Hugo's lap is full of him. His hands on the bar, guiding it back in place, knees on either side of Hugo's hips. Hugo sits up and Craig's hands are in his hair, sliding down his neck and gripping the muscles there.

"Sorry," he says against Hugo's lips. "Couldn't help myself." He bites at Hugo's lower lip, grinding his cock against Hugo's stomach. "You know how hot you are?"

Hugo blinks. Doesn't really have an answer to that. And Craig doesn't really need one, if the way he keeps kissing Hugo's jaw means anything.

If any of this means anything.

Craig's cock between his palms; the warm, firm weight of it. Craig tugging down Hugo's sweats to press their erections together. Rutting like teenagers. Kids with no time and just moments, moments.

Hugo gasps when Craig twists, fingers digging into the stretch of muscle over Craig's hip.

Out of his depth again. Clinging for dear life.

Craig has callouses; it's not surprising. Hugo can trace his years of deadlifting and weight training in the rough skin just below his fingers and right under the first knuckle. Against his dick, the sensation is maddening, extra friction, different then his own hands.

"Yeah," Craig is says, panting. Fucking both their cocks into his fist. "Yeah, Hugo, yeah."

Saying his name like a prayer. Something desperate. Hugo finds himself responding to it. Wanting to be wanted. Aching for it. Craig clutches at his shoulder with his free hand, his abs contract. A sixth sense maybe, or just close to coming.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Hue, I lo--"

Whatever he was saying, going to say. Whatever the meaning, it's lost in his orgasm.

I lo--

Love? Probably not. Something else. Some other word.

Hugo flushes. His hips stutter, pressing up into Craig's loosening grip. Covered in Craig's slick. It won't take much more, Hugo wraps his hand around Craig's to help the process along.

Lo--

Meaningless on its own.

Though maybe nothing else has been.

Context clues. He is a teacher after all.

Hugo shudders, presses his face into Craig's shoulder as he too spills between them.

"Me too," he says and Craig doesn't ask what he means. Craig breathes into his hair. Craig pants.

"Me too," Hugo says again. "Me too."


End file.
